


Homecoming

by DaytonBay



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaytonBay/pseuds/DaytonBay
Summary: Stannis returns from a year-long, top secret mission to find Sansa's flat full of her family members, and they all want to kill him. He has no idea why.A little story for the holidays.These characters belong to George RR Martin.





	1. Chapter 1

“Stannis, you need to calm down,” Jon almost laughed. No one else would ever have guessed that this was nervous for Stannis - the dead stillness and the focus, not a muscle twitching – but Jon had worked next to him every day for the last year. They knew far more about each other’s tics than any lover; their lives had depended on knowing exactly what the other was thinking, what the other man’s likely next move would be. A year of the most gruelling undercover work either had ever done. It had ended two days ago in bloodshed, three separate explosions and a relatively superficial gunshot wound for Stannis. Jon still walked with a slight limp where shrapnel had caught his lower leg.

As soon as they’d been medically and psychologically cleared, they’d both taken advantage of the debriefing stop at headquarters to stock up on a few Christmas gifts.

When they pulled up in front of Sansa’s flat, Stannis handed the cab driver £40 with such extreme concentration that the driver actually twitched and averted his gaze. Jon nudged him again, laughing fully this time. “Mate, you need to lighten up,” he teased, gathering up his shopping bag of red-and-gold presents. “You’ll scare the hell out of her before you can even give her the necklace. We’re already going to shock her by just turning up.”

Stannis patted his inside coat pocket for the fiftieth time, the exquisitely wrapped gift still tucked safely away. “You honestly think she’s not going to read guilt into this? It’s not too extravagant?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Sansa’s always liked pretty things, and that necklace is £1000 of very pretty,” Jon said. “She’ll love it. And you should feel guilty; it’s been a whole year with no contact. I feel guilty, too.”

“Maybe she didn’t wait,” Stannis muttered. She had no obligation to wait, and he’d been away 12 times longer than they’d been together. But Stannis had been in deep and so had she. He had seen her every time he closed his eyes for a year, her bright hair and bright smile and brighter conversation.

Jon shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t. Hope you kept the receipt.” He grinned at Stannis then and shook his head. “Stannis, Sansa is loyal to a fault. She really loved you. I doubt she’s just changed her mind.” He looked down at his feet as he searched for a key to the front door of the Victorian terrace that held Sansa’s flat. They climbed up the stairs, both now displaying every tell of anxiety.

Stannis had only confessed his love affair with Sansa after three months of no contact had nearly driven him mad. He and Sansa had told no one at the time. They’d simply disappeared into each other after a particularly spectacular Halloween party thrown by Robert at his expansive house on Blackwater Bay.

Jon gave Stannis one last hopeful grin as he raised his hand and knocked on Sansa’s front door. Stannis allowed himself a little smile at the cheery pine wreath with its red velvet ribbon and holly. They both heard a frantic male voice shushing from inside the flat. Jon dropped his hand from the door and threw a pained look over his shoulder at Stannis.

The door opened to reveal a man with the same extraordinary blue eyes as Catelyn Stark. His dark auburn hair curled over his forehead much as Jon’s darker hair did. Their differing colouring aside, the man was obviously related to Jon. “Robb!” Jon cried out happily. Stannis felt air filling his lungs again. Just Sansa’s brother Robb. Not a lover. Maybe she had waited…

Robb’s eyes narrowed as he took in the two men; he stood stock still and gave no response to his brother’s cheerful greeting. Stannis felt his hackles rise, the effortless habit of danger shot adrenaline through his body. In one graceful and lightening move, Robb threw Jon into the wall with his left hand and punched his right into Stannis’ face.

While Stannis stumbled back into the opposite wall from the one where Robb had Jon pinned by the shoulder, Robb locked his Sansa-blue eyes on Jon’s wide, deep grey and held his brother’s shocked gaze. Neither of them said a word, but Robb’s jaw kept clenching as if he was contemplating punching Jon as well. After long moments, he settled for gripping a fistful of Jon’s overcoat and dragging him forcibly through the door of the flat and out of view. Stannis stood blinking alone in the corridor, the drops of blood from his nose dripping onto the black wool of his coat, which soaked it up without complaint. Finally he lifted himself off the wall and stepped into the doorway, where he encountered the next obstacle.

Ned planted himself in front of Stannis, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, with that Ned Stark stare that seemed to excavate every impure thought Stannis had ever had about Sansa, every stolen 10 minutes when he’d brought himself off over the last twelve months to thoughts of himself buried deep in the eldest Stark daughter. Ned was – crystal clear – weighing up whether, or how, to go about tearing Stannis’ balls off. The older man’s eyes dipped twice to Stannis’ trousers before he seemed to make a decision.

Yes, Stannis admitted to himself, okay. He’d fucked their 20-year-old daughter. He’d fucked her every chance he’d had, over the course of one magical month, often several times a night. She’d been a ravenous wolf in bed and he’d found a stamina he’d not possessed even as a teenager. He’d spent every single one of a straight 37 nights in the same bed with her. They’d had each other on every surface of his flat and hers. He’d told he loved her by the 5th night – though that just slipped out in the sensuous heat of a sensual moment - and by the 10th he knew beyond doubt that it was true. By the time he’d been called away for duty, with less than 24 hours of notice and barely enough time to pack and fuck her twice more, he was willing to submit himself to the certain imprisonment of not reporting for his mission, just to stay with her for the 38th night. She’d talked him out of it, straddled across his hips, gasping and shuddering on his cock, telling him to come back safe and they’d start again.

“Stannis,” Ned gritted out, and Stannis realised it was the first word anyone had said to him since the door to the flat had opened. A quick look around what little he could see of the rest of the room confirmed that Jon was missing, along with Robb, down the corridor beyond the living room. Sansa’s wild little sister, Arya, stood to one side of Ned, a kitchen knife clutched in her fist. She, too, had made eye contact once to many times with Stannis’ crotch for his peace of mind.

Even very bad situations could still deteriorate, Stannis knew, so Catelyn Stark appearing like the furies of old, her red hair streaming wildly behind her, her teeth bared and a scream of righteous anger on her lips should not have been so unexpected. She took one look at Stannis, still standing in the doorway and only slightly injured, in front of her husband, who had not done nearly enough about it for her liking. She roughly shoved her husband to one side and lunged for Stannis. He caught her hand just before it made contact with his face.

“Cat,” he growled by way of a greeting. He released her wrist only when Ned had a firm hold of her.

“What is that bastard doing here?” she held Stannis gaze with a cold disdain, but directed her question to Ned. “Why is he still in one piece?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Arya put in.

Stannis would have felt more comfortable in a roomful of enemy combatants, then at least he’d know precisely what he was guilty of in their eyes, and he would be free to defend himself. Something truly awful, but surely a month-long love affair with their daughter, however torrid, would not produce this sort of hatred. His mind began running through the possibilities:

Perhaps Sansa had been devastated with his departure. Depressed. She’d … oh god, no, maybe she’d done something drastic and that’s why… His heart began beating almost out of his chest before his rational mind came running after his fear, shouting at it, talking it down: no, these people are angry. Spitting, fighting, killing angry. But not sad.

He scanned the room for evidence: Sansa’s cardigan, the thick one she’d worn last winter when he’d been snuggled up in front of a fire with her, draped over an armchair like she’d just thrown it there this morning. Two pairs of her winter boots were lined up neatly by the front door. Her coat was on the peg by the mirror.

Not dead. She’s not dead. Whatever else happens today, at least she is alive, she is surrounded by (seething, vicious) family who love her, she is walking out the door in her boots and coat and returning them neatly to their place on her safe return. He couldn’t see much else from his position in the doorway, his view blocked by a wall of Starks and the low entryway partition strung with tinsel and pine. The flat smelled of cinnamon and very faintly of Sansa’s perfume. It seemed that the Starks were having some sort of early Christmas get-together. Brilliant timing, he berated himself internally.

He heard her before he saw her. He knew that yawn. He’d heard that sleepy, sexy, beautiful sound before and he wanted to push aside Arya and Catelyn and Ned and anything else that stood between him and Sansa and sweep her in his arms and kiss her good morning. But Ned still looked on the verge of murderous, Robb couldn’t be far, Arya had a weapon and Jon could have been converted to their side by now.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in, Mum, I really needed that,” she drawled in a lazy, half-asleep voice. “Oh, is someone at the door?” None of them moved or spoke. Catelyn’s eyes threatened unholy retribution if he broke the silence.

But Stannis caught a glimpse of her in the mirror: dishevelled and barefoot and sipping tea and dressed in oversized flannel pyjamas and looking like the most singular, most glorious sight in the universe. He couldn’t help himself. He took a step forward, edging just between Catelyn and Ned, enough to be just far enough inside the flat to see her, and for her to see him.

“Stannis,” her eyes wide with the whisper. She dropped the cup of tea she’d been holding and it shattered on the wood floor. She pushed her long hair back from her forehead for a better look. Then she started to take a step toward him, ready to walk through broken ceramics to get to him.

All questions about whether she’d waited or whether she hadn’t faded as her foot hovered over a shard of the mug. He moved with the speed and efficiency he could hardly bring his nearly 40-year-old self to muster when taking down terrorists. He had her in his arms and lifted off the floor before her foot could touch the ground. She was still staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.

His shoes crunched across the mess and he set her down on the other side of the coffee table. “Stannis,” she had tears in her eyes this time, as clear and blue as ever. She felt perfect in his arms and despite their audience, he let his hands wander across her back and up to her face. She’d gained a bit of weight, her curves felt luscious and he was seized by a desire to rip off the flannel and explore every new ounce. She looked and felt even better than his imagination, which was vivid in its detail. Her hair smelled like the breeze through a rose garden.

“I’ve missed you, Sansa,” he whispered, wiping the tears off her cheeks with his fingers. Her own fingers hovered over his bleeding nose, a little frown appearing between her brows. “I’m so sorry I was away so long. Are you well?”

Sansa hitched a breath and she put a hand to his chest. “Yes… I….” Sansa stumbled over her words and he couldn’t catch the next few because she had begun crying in great gulps. She pressed her face into his coat and dug her fingers into his shoulder blades and gave up all attempts at speech. Stannis was still uncertain if this was a good sign or a bad one, but he held onto her as desperately as she was holding onto him. He tried his best to tune out their inexplicably hostile audience.

At the sound of heavy footsteps from the direction Jon had disappeared, Stannis lifted his face from Sansa’s tangle of hair. Robb stood in the entrance to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. His pissed-off, muscular bulk took up the whole of the doorway, so that Jon, behind him, had to edge backwards around his brother. Stannis kept his attention on Robb’s malevolent countenance, sparing only a glance to the far less threatening Jon, until he saw from the corner of his eye that Jon was throwing every frantic, urgent signal they’d learned over the last year his way. Finally, Stannis noticed that Jon was carrying something.

Stannis could almost feel his heart freeze. Tucked safe in Jon’s arms was a baby with a head of soft, black hair, wrapped in a hand-crocheted, multicolour blanket. The baby had its big, dark blue eyes locked on Jon, and Jon had his eyes locked on Stannis. Jon looked like a bomb had just exploded in front of him, and Stannis knew he had exactly the same look on his face. He looked down at Sansa, who had her face in his lapels and was still breathing him in.

“Sansa,” he whispered, afraid his voice might somehow give away his position to the baby.

“Yours,” she muttered into his overcoat, as if he hadn’t put that all together in an instant. He gripped her tighter to himself for a moment, as Jon rocked the child in a fashion that suggested he was trying to soothe himself rather than the infant.

Sansa wriggled free and padded over to Jon. Lifting the little bundle up to his face, Jon gave the baby a kiss on the forehead before giving Sansa a wide smile. Even in his mind, Stannis hated referring to his child as it, and hated even more that Jon was bonding with his baby before he could. Boy or girl? Damn Sansa’s gender-neutral blanket.

Jon looked a bit teary, and he grinned at her, “Sansa, he is as beautiful as his mother. I can’t believe I have a nephew!” _A son, God Almighty, I have a son._ Stannis envied Jon the spontaneous, uncomplicated hug that Sansa bestowed upon her brother, laughing and smiling.

“Jon,” she cried, “I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve been wanting to tell you about him…” Jon was bouncing the baby gently now, and was receiving a delighted, toothless gurgle for his efforts.

Stannis remained frozen to his spot on Sansa’s Persian rug, amongst the shards of her fallen mug, unable to form coherent thoughts. _Baby baby baby baby baby_ , his mind babbled at him. _Mine_.

She took the baby with practiced ease and curled into the armchair by the window. Stannis followed like a puppy and dropped to the sofa opposite her. He vaguely registered Jon and Robb cleaning up the broken ceramic.  

“Eddard Steffon,” she said, answering all the questions Stannis didn’t have the voice to ask. “Eddie, this is your father,” she singsonged to the baby. Then she raised her head and took in the rest of her vengeful family. “Would you all mind giving Stannis and me a little time?” she asked. “Alone?” She jutted her chin meaningfully towards the door of the flat.

“I am not going to leave you here alone with Eddie, while that man breaks your heart all over again,” Catelyn seethed.

Sansa sighed. “He went away on a mission, Mum, and so did Jon.”

“Jon didn’t impregnate a 20-year-old girl right before he disappeared for year,” Ned snarled back.

Stannis started to rise to his feet. Someone put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back to the sofa. Stannis glanced behind him: Robb. “Mum, Dad, Little Avenger,” Robb said to his family. “Let’s take Jon out for a drink. Welcome him home. Give them some time.”

Arya spat furiously: “Which side are you on?”

“Sansa’s. And Eddie’s. Always,” said Robb. “Go on, grab your coats. Let’s go.” Robb and Jon herded their family out the door of the flat. Ned lingered the longest, measuring up Stannis without saying a word. Stannis just let it go; he couldn’t take his eyes off Eddie, lazily smacking his pink lips and rubbing his tiny, upturned nose into Sansa’s pyjama top. The door swung closed and Sansa exhaled, leaned her head back against the armchair. She seemed to cuddle Eddie closer into herself. Then without a word she began to unbutton her top. Eddie swung his little arm around to grab a handful of his mother’s hair as she settled him into position.

Oh. Fuck. Of course she’s breastfeeding. Of course she is. And she’s going to open up her shirt and I’m going to see her perfect… Oh. Fuck. They are bigger. Much bigger. They look perfect. They’re feeding my baby. Our baby.  She looks like the bloody Virgin Mary, bathed in soft lamplight with her halo of hair and tits softer and fuller than any Old Master could have painted.   

Stannis knew that he himself was grinning like an imbecile.

Sansa’s expression remained elusive, though. Then he saw it. A genetic predisposition of the Starks, he supposed, because a year of reading Jon’s expressions had apparently taught him something of Sansa’s as well. Just a little twitch above the left eye. Simmering anger.

“Sansa, he is perfect. Completely perfect. And so are you. I can never thank you enough for…”

“No. No, Stannis, I suspect that you never can.” Her voice was harsh and short and almost back to tearful. She finally turned the whole of her attention on him, the blue eyes glittering and tough as diamonds. With one hand supporting Eddie’s bottom, she wheeled around and wadded his shirtfront in her fist, dragging his face close enough to feel the heat of her anger.

“Where the actual fuck have you been, you utter wanker?”


	2. Chapter 2

It must have been sometime in early November, the midwife at the local GP’s surgery was explaining to her. Did she need an exact date, the midwife asked again when Sansa pushed. Not to be indelicate, but was there any question over the paternity…

Sansa stopped the midwife right there. No, no question. She was just curious about the timing.

Not that it mattered. The father was long gone, had been gone already for three long months. She knew he was still alive, because news of death came back. But of his aliveness, she knew nothing. Foreign or domestic, close or far. He could be watching her through binoculars every night as she came home from work, or he could be rotting in a prison cell in Riyadh or Buenos Aires, Jon alongside him.

She walked out of the surgery and into a dull January morning. She had taken the day off from her internship at Lannister Tyrell Bank to deal with the emotional fallout she was sure would follow this visit. She’d missed two periods and been vomiting every afternoon for 3 weeks before she made an appointment. She hadn’t taken a test until she arrived at the midwife’s clinic. She didn’t want to be alone when she found out, and she didn’t want to tell anyone she knew.

She made it as far the local park, then slid onto a bench near the playground. She tried to imagine herself here next year, pushing a pram along the winding paths through the gardens. “Well, little one, it would appear that it’s just you and me for the moment. I’m fairly certain that your father would love you. Well, take an interest in you. Well, send a cheque anyway. He was pretty keen on duty and responsibility. I recall a lecture on the subject when I tried to suggest that he pursue a more physically secure line of work.” She patted her flat belly thoughtfully, flipping through a mental filing cabinet of conversations with Stannis. “You’re going to think this is the height of irresponsible, but I have no idea whatsoever what his views on children are.”  Sansa laughed ruefully. “Actually, I suppose the height of irresponsibility was conceiving you in the first place.”

She pulled out the stack of papers that the midwife had given her. “Okay, scan next week.” She rifled further through the papers and found a prescription for vitamin supplements. “We can stop by the chemist on the way home and pick these up.” She stuffed the papers into her handbag and steadied herself on the park bench. She considered crying, but decided to walk back through the park instead. After a hot chocolate from the café, she stopped into a bookshop next to the chemist. “Look, little bean, a whole section on pregnancy. Nothing specifically on 20-year-old single parenthood with a man you only knew for one quite fabulous month, but I suppose this one will do.” The clerk looked her up and down as she tapped her card against the reader to pay for the book.

“This for you, dear?”

Sansa smiled, best she could manage. “Indeed.”

“You seem rather young…”

“I am rather young,” Sansa retorted. “And I don’t need a bag and it’s too late for a lecture, so if you could just hand me that book.”

The woman shook her head. “No, no, I only mention because there’s this group of young mums who meet at that café over the road. Around 10 on Tuesdays. Maybe you should go along, even now, and, you know, find some allies.” The woman smiled kindly. “I’ve got six children myself, and I was young once too.”

Sansa had started to tear up at some point during that speech. She nodded her thanks and dashed out of the store.

…

“So, am I not supposed to mention that I know you’re pregnant? How does this work?” her father had asked one evening after work in March. He was sitting at her kitchen table, pouring her a second cup of decaffeinated tea and pressing the plate of biscuits towards her at the same time. Sansa picked up a custard cream and considered the question.

“And if I say I’ve just gained some weight?” she dunked her biscuit into the tea and reached for a second and third, to prove her point.

Ned levelled her a shrewd look. “You’ve gained weight because you’re pregnant. What, about five months?”

“Spot on, well done,” she sighed. “There’s no hiding the facts from a man with five children.”

Ned stood up and walked around the table, pried the custard cream from her fingers and set it down next to her tea. He tugged her up for a lengthy hug, including backrubbing and the muttering of platitudes about how she was going to be all right and he and her mother would be there for her all the way. Sansa felt about half of the tension in her shoulders, which she’d been holding in since roughly mid-December, melt into the laminate flooring.

“Don’t worry, Lemondrop,” Ned soothed. “Your mother and I are going to take care of our baby and our grandbaby, okay?”

Sansa sniffled into her father’s work shirt and he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away her tears. He pulled his chair around next to hers and she leant her head on his shoulder as she finished her tea, and he finished his beer. He asked her how she was feeling, if she was still exhausted (no) or uncomfortable (not yet) or vomiting (that had stopped in February). She asked if her mother wasn’t going to hate her for getting knocked up outside of marriage.

“She will,” Ned acknowledged, “for the five seconds it takes her to realize that she’s getting a grandchild.”

Sansa smiled. Finally, someone important to her knew, and was happy for her. Happy for the bean. It made Sansa happy, too. Her father stayed for another half an hour, making her actually excited about it, talking out cribs and nappies and what hospital she had chosen for the birth. He gave her a kiss on the forehead once he was ready to leave, his suit jacket in place over the mascara marks on his shirtfront.

“Just one more thing, Lemondrop,” he told her as he hugged her goodbye. “I’ll need the name of the father, so that I can stab him through his faithless heart.”

…

Cersei had her sacked as soon as she found out. Very loudly, very publicly, with lots of words like ‘immoral’ and ‘unfit example’ and ‘ungrateful for the opportunities at this bank’. Joffrey then weighed in, shouting for all the open plan office to hear about what a slut she was, how he could not believe they had ever dated. Margery and Willas shouted back, promised Sansa two months’ severance pay and a good reference, but the humiliation was fairly comprehensive. Margery walked out with her, gave her a hug and wished her the very best.

That was it, she knew. At six months along, she stood no chance of finding another job. She could sue them, Sam Tarly assured her when she called to ask Jon’s old friend for advice, but as she’d only worked there for under a year, her rights were very limited.

Obviously her mother and father and Robb had offered to pay her rent indefinitely when she’d rung them in floods. But she wondered, realistically, how long would it be before she could find work? The sum total of what this pregnancy might do to her life – at least in the medium term – became clearer for her.

She hugged Bean as she cried herself to sleep.

…

It turned out that some people had very firm views about single not-exactly-teen mothers. The word ‘slut’ and its variations were directed at her, sometimes in her hearing, sometimes in Arya’s. Arya never failed to tell her of it, raging against the injustice of it.

Stannis had been her first.

Sansa couldn’t move too well now, eight and a half months along was no longer cute-pregnant. Just very uncomfortable pregnant. Especially in the mid-summer heat and humidity. She lay on her sheets at night with her vest top pulled up beneath her substantial breasts to let Bean get some air.

“I’m sure your Daddy would love us. Maybe he would. He’d defend us. I think.” Sansa bit her lip in the dark of her room. “Then again, maybe he thinks I’m a slut, too.” She breathed in and out slowly. “There’s really no telling what he might think.” She patted her belly. “No matter. It really doesn’t matter what he thinks.” The pats turned into little rubs. “I love you.”

…

Sansa knew what night it had been. She thought she knew. It seemed, at any rate, the most likely candidate of several competitors.

Stannis had rung her doorbell and taken the steps to her flat two at a time; she could hear the squish-slam of his autumn-wet trainers hitting the treads of her hundred-year-old staircase. It groaned at the strain. Sansa flung open the door just in time to let him through without knocking, and his momentum threw him right into her. She felt herself being lifted off the ground and pressed into the opposite wall, seemingly carelessly but with the attention to detail he always showed: nowhere near a framed picture or mirror, the door solidly closed behind him.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she helped to hold her chin just above his nose, her slippers dropping from her toes onto the carpet. He was leaning up to kiss her instead of the other way around, and even pinned to the wall she felt crazy safe and stupid happy. He’d been sweating from his run, caught out in a rainfall, he’d half-explained between kisses. She hadn’t cared; he didn’t need an excuse. He stripped off his running gear and drifted his hands up her skirt, never breaking eye contact. She’d gripped tighter to his shoulders, both legs around his hips, and he’d dragged her knickers to one side. No condom, not when he slid into her then, pounding her into the wall until they both came with Stannis’ mouth closed over her nipple, grunting and sucking in turns. Not when he’d taken her from behind over the back of the sofa, his fingers rubbing frantic circles over her clit as she panted out high, staccato breaths of increasing pitch. Not when he’d snuggled into her bed with her and swung her atop his hips, letting her ride him slow and steady and long after midnight.

They’d discussed the redundancy of condoms previously; she was on the pill. Still, it was the only night they’d not used them. Stannis had not planned the visit, just found himself running by her place in the rain, and then could not see a reason he shouldn’t call by. No condoms in the pockets of his trousers – just house keys and a phone - and she’d thought at the time she should be glad of that, wasn’t it supporting evidence that he wasn’t always on the lookout for a willing woman to put a random condom in his wallet to good use?

But now, as she breathed out quick then slow, pacing circles around her living room and waiting for Robb to drive over from university at breakneck speed… now she cursed him. She’d been 20 years old, dammit. Who trusted a girl nearly 20 years younger than himself to take the damn pill at the same fucking time every day? An arsehole, that’s who, fucking bastard shithead vermin, that’s who, now breathe, breathe, breathe…

Then Robb burst through the door, the early evening sun behind him, and bundled her into his waiting car.

…

Sansa had always imagined that looking on her baby without Stannis would make her pine for him. This was not true. She gazed down at her tiny son, hours old before she was well enough to hold him, with her mother crying with relief and beaming with grandparental joy, and there was no room in her heart for anger and disappointment. Not then, and not for the next months. Not until she woke up from a nap in December, her flat suffused with the aroma of an early Christmas meal, and found Stannis at her threshold.


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing he could say, fucking nothing whatsobloodyever he could say, stood any chance of making this better. He could, and did, tell her that if he’d known, he would have cut short his mission and returned, no matter the consequences. That was the truth.

He could, and did, tell her that he had no indication, no fears, no prickling worries, that she might be pregnant. That was also the truth. It made her scream at him, so loud that Eddie broke free of his suckling and started to cry. She stopped mid-shout, immediately. She buttoned up her pyjama top and let loose a controlled fury, all the while rocking Eddie ever-gently against her chest.

“…never for a moment crossed your mind? No, of course not. Men think they can just stick their dicks wherever they like and the consequences never…” she rattled it all off, every negative thought she’d had for the last year. Despite Sansa’s controlled volume, she was shaking with rage, and Eddie picked it all up. His frightened cries ratcheted up, even as Sansa tried ever-harder to control the outward signs of her anger. 

“Sansa, Sansa, let me hold Eddie for moment, love,” he attempted, reaching nervously for her free hand. “I know you’re angry with me. I deserve it.”

“How could you just leave me, for a year? You never thought of me at all, did you? You never even considered…” she spoke more quietly with every outraged sentence, and Eddie cried more desperately.

 “I thought of you every day, Sansa. He must have a cot? I could put him down for a short while and you could yell at me all you like.”

“Now you think you can just walk in here and take my baby away from me…” she sobbed, cuddling Eddie closer.

“Sansa, no, of course not. You’re obviously a wonderful mother. I just think I could hold Eddie for you, just for a few minutes, while you’re upset.” He sat curled on the floor at her feet now. “Maybe I could call Cat? Or Ned?” He tried his best to shrink himself down, to seem as unthreatening as possible. “I won’t leave the room with him, I promise. I’ll stay right here.”

Tears blocking her vision, Sansa swiped at her eyes with the arm not holding the baby. Stannis reached out and stroked his finger along Eddie’s chubby, infuriated cheek. He raised himself up on his knees and ran his other hand up and down Sansa’s arm. When she didn’t kick him or flinch, he pulled out a handkerchief and blotted the tears from her face.

“Please, Sansa, I’ll just hold him while you call Ned, okay?”

Sansa snuffled loudly and shifted Eddie carefully on her arm, so that he was facing Stannis. “Ok,” she scooted Eddie a bit closer to Stannis’ outstretched hands, “I’ll call Dad.”

Stannis picked up Eddie like he was the most delicate of porcelain relics, the little diapered bum supported in one hand, his other hand protectively on the back of Eddie’s head. Without warning, Stannis realised that he was crying, too, albeit silently. Eddie and Sansa were noisy criers; his mind already jumped ahead to a shared household in which he couldn’t compete with the volume of their rages. Eddie rubbed his furious face back and forth across Stannis’ shirtfront as he protested the loss of his mother.

He heard Sansa sobbing down the phone line and Ned assuring her that he was already on his way, they were only in the pub across the street, less than two minutes. More distinctly, Stannis could here Catelyn in the background. “Jon, how can you defend that man after what he did to your sister? Listen to her, she’d distraught. Eddie’s screaming.” He recognised the cadence of Jon’s placating answer.

Catelyn and Ned opened the door before Sansa even cut the call. Shooting Stannis a disgusted glare, Catelyn led her sobbing daughter down the hallway, while Ned settled himself on the sofa. Stannis paced the rug, bouncing and shushing Eddie instinctively. Ned waited for Eddie to settle, seated in complete stillness and watching Stannis all the while, his eyes following him as he paced the living room floor.

“Sansa nearly died.”

Stannis stopped pacing. He bounced Eddie in place, staring at Ned. “She what?”

“After she gave birth. We were in the hospital, Catelyn was in with her for the delivery. It had been long – really long – and I say that as someone who has supported Catelyn through five labours.” With Ned’s voice in the background, Eddie seemed to relax a bit, and his crying softened. “She started bleeding and she didn’t stop. Catelyn opened the doors of the delivery suite and handed me Eddie.” Ned’s eyes crinkled up as he smiled at his grandson. “Then the doors slammed shut and I could hear all hell breaking loose in there. Eddie was naked – it all happened so fast – and the midwife and I cleaned him up a bit and wrapped him up warm while I knew Sansa was dying.”

Stannis sat in Sansa’s abandoned armchair without a word. Eddie’s eyes were drifting closed, exhausted from his rage and his meal.

“I was sure I was going to lose her. And I cursed you. Oh God, how I cursed you. I’m actually rather surprised you made it back alive, with all of us praying so hard for your violent death. Robb and Arya and Bran and I. We rocked Eddie in turns. We never set him down. We waited for two hours.” Stannis sat utterly still and attentive while Eddie rooted about on his chest, then smacked his lips and fell asleep.

“She needed a transfusion and emergency surgery.” Stannis found to his own surprise that he was  crying again now, and rather more noisily than he had before. “So, you understand, seeing you again… you’re the villain of the piece, Stannis. Attempted murder. Abandonment.” Ned shrugged. “It’s not fair of us, we know that, too. Jon has done a valiant job of arguing your case.”

Eddie’s little fists pressed into Stannis’ chest; his breathing had calmed and not even Stannis gritting his teeth until he thought they might shatter disturbed the baby’s nap.

“I’m so sorry, Ned. I would have been there, if I’d known. I would never have left.”

Ned nodded and raised his eyebrows. “I know. We all know. Sansa knows, now. But you’ll need to give me a bit of time –and maybe Catelyn a bit more - to stop seeing you as the man who nearly killed my daughter.” Ned stood up and started towards the hallway, but stopped. “You’re not asking for my advice but I’m giving it anyway: Just do not leave, Stannis.”

Stannis listened to Ned’s footsteps recede down the hall. He tried to tilt his head, so that the tears didn’t drip onto Eddie’s sleeping head. Eddie shuffled his bum into the air and had his arms thrown wide in a careless pseudo-hug. “Ok, son,” he whispered. “Go ahead and get comfortable. I am not going anywhere unless your mother kicks me out.”

…

It took Rickon and Bran showing up to convince Catelyn to abandon the Christmas get-together they had planned (apparently Arya planned on travelling over Christmas, thus the early lunch). Both boys had stationed themselves in front of Stannis and began peppering him with questions, disregarding Eddie’s fitful nap. Bran’s questions focussed on Stannis’ moral reasoning for abandoning Sansa and Eddie, while Rickon wanted to know if he’d shot anyone. _Not today_ , Stannis thought, though he wasn’t ruling anything out.  

Robb patted him on the back on his way to the door, and roughly apologised for punching him earlier, then leaned over and gave Eddie a kiss on his sleeping head. Catelyn had reined in her aggression and even smiled at seeing the baby snuffling into his father’s slightly bloodied shirt. Arya sat across the coffee table from him, to one side of Bran, flicking a switchblade back and forth while she stared unblinkingly at his face. Finally, he found himself confronting her: “I am holding my infant son for the first time. Do you think you could threaten me with a knife another day?” She merely raised her eyebrows and refused to move until Bran persuaded her to check on Sansa.

Everyone, it seemed, was allowed down the hallway into Sansa’s room, except for him. Perhaps he’d be able to enter as Eddie’s plus one when the family left.

Stannis managed to pull Jon to one side and explain that he needed to stay here at the flat, and that even leaving temporarily might upset Sansa further. Jon agreed so quickly that Stannis worried about what Sansa had been saying to her family, sequestered in her bedroom. Still, Jon promised to swing by Stannis’ flat and bring over some clothes and essentials.

“How bad is it?” Stannis asked quietly, nodding towards the hallway, while Rickon was distracted with his phone.  Eddie growled a bit at his father’s voice rumbling through his sleep.

Jon gave him a doleful look. “They were calling for your blood while we were at the pub. I mean, Sansa nearly died. She was sacked from her internship at the bank as soon as she was showing, and she hasn’t been able to find another job while she was pregnant. She had to take a semester off from her university course. Robb and my parents have been paying her bills and rent, Arya and Bran have done her shopping…”

Stannis rubbed his hand across his tired eyes. He’d ruined her life, and nearly killed her into the bargain.

“I explained to them that we could not have been in contact, that we if could have come home even a day sooner, we would have. I think they’ve softened a bit, seeing you with Eddie.” Jon smiled at his little nephew. "Even Mum accepted that she couldn’t be fussing over my return on the one hand, and condemning you at the same time.”

Letting his head hang over the back of the sofa, Stannis considered that if Jon’s adoptive mother could accept his good intentions now, perhaps he had a chance of winning Sansa over.

“Does Sansa want to see me?”

This drew another sad smile from Jon. “Of course she does. You stay here at the flat. Robb’s going to drive me over to your place, and we’ll get my Mom and Dad and Rickon and Bran out of here.”

“For God’s sake, take Arya with you, too.”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, she was all for making sure that you never father another child again.” He stood and followed Robb to the door. Within ten minutes, the rest of the Stark clan had followed, and Stannis gathered the baby and faced down the hallway.

“Here we go, my boy,” he whispered. Eddie blinked awake and gave him a startled look, then let his clear, blue eyes drop closed again. “I can do this. I can make her love me again. I’ve got you to help me convince your Mum, huh?”

Stannis walked down the hallway, stopping to admire the photos of Eddie that line the walls. Eddie with Ned, with Robb, with Catelyn and Arya and the boys, with Sansa smiling in the sunshine at the park. There was one photo of Cat and Sansa, at what looked to be Sansa’s 21st birthday party, that showed Sansa very pregnant. Stannis took it off the wall and brought it in for a closer look. She was glowing and beautiful, and Stannis was hit with another wave of regret over what he’d missed and how he’d failed to support her. He would have loved to see her body change as Eddie grew. He’d missed it all, unable to feel his little kicks or bring her tea and rub her back.

He could hardly keep his eyes open, and he realised that he was physically and emotionally tapped out. Even so, he kept hold of the photo, summoned all his courage and knocked on Sansa’s bedroom door.

…

Sansa heard his footsteps and stilled herself to listen. Eddie must still be asleep. She felt guilty for losing her temper earlier, for making Eddie cry, but really she had not been prepared to see Stannis. At some point, Sansa had decided to put Stannis out of her mind and focus on getting through. At least she thought she had. Because the minute she saw him, it all came back. She’d missed him, like a part of her own self was absent, and here he was, back as soon as he could be, just like he’d promised. Smartly dressed, hugging her, telling her he’d missed her, too.

She’d needed to let the anger out, and that had not been the last of it. But right now, she just wanted to hold him again, and to have him hold her. It might be best if he didn’t speak. Any attempt at another placating apology stood a very good chance of pissing her off. Her mother had encouraged her to shower and then had calmly brushed out Sansa’s hair, all the while counselling, against all expectation, that Sansa give Stannis another chance. Jon thought he was a good man and had insisted again and again that Stannis could not have contacted her, that he had spoken about how much he loved Sansa, that he could not wait to return to her. Her mother might not believe Stannis, but she believed Jon.

At his quiet knock, Sansa swung the door open and vowed to try again. All anger disappeared anyway at the sight of Eddie quiet and blinking awake in his father’s arms. Sansa melted, just as her mother had predicted she would. (“Eddie has taken to him right away,” Catelyn had told her. “Stannis had him settled and contented. I have to give him credit, Sansa, he’s trying. I almost don’t want to kill him anymore.”) She stood back and nodded to Stannis to enter.

“He’s awake again, but seems happy enough,” Stannis said, and she could her the nerves in his voice. “I thought he might be begin to miss his mother.” He paused. “I know I’ve missed his mother.”

Sansa gestured to the bed. “Let’s all sit down,” she invited him. Stannis toed off his shoes and followed her, laying Eddie down between them after Sansa pulled back the duvet cover. She turned on her side, head propped in her hand and told Stannis to make himself comfortable. Eddie kicked happily and moved his attention from one parent to the other as they spoke.

Stannis launched right in: “Sansa, I love you. I never stopped loving you. And I am so incredibly grateful for Eddie, so grateful to you, you waiting was almost more than I’d hoped, and…”

Sansa leaned across the baby and hooked her free arm around Stannis’ neck. “Shut up, Stannis,” she murmured, bringing him closer. She kissed him, and he scooted closer to her, one large hand still splayed across Eddie’s tummy, as he kissed her back. They kissed for what seemed like ages before Eddie began fussing loudly enough to draw their attention.

“You taste a little bit of blood,” she smiled, pulling back.

“I’ll clean up,” he grinned. “I feel fortunate that Robb was the only one to hit me today. I think I got off lightly.”

“Yeah, you did actually.”

While Stannis went to wash his face and take off his bloodied shirt, Sansa lifted Eddie back into her arms, unbuttoned her blouse and snapped open the clip of her nursing bra. Eddie wiggled in anticipation, then settled in for his meal. He was suckling away contentedly when Stannis came back, shirtless and clean. He stopped in the doorway, once again watching her in awe as she fed their baby.

“Christ, Sansa, you are beautiful. The both of you. I cannot believe I missed all of this, and I am so sorry again.” He dropped to the bed with them, tangling his lower legs with hers. “May I?” he asked, his finger hovering over Eddie’s cheek.

“Of course you can. You’re Eddie’s Dad, and… I still love you, too, Stannis.” She tilted her head to kiss him again, then let him run his fingers across Eddie’s face and hair. “He looks like you, naturally,” Sansa continued. “He even does this little scowl when he’s frustrated. It’s more adorable on him than on you.”

Stannis gave her an affronted look, but then took in his son’s features as Sansa switched breasts. “He does look like me, doesn’t he? Didn’t even get your eye colour, more’s the pity. And he has the same fondness for your breasts.”

She kicked him. “I think it’s un-PC to make breastfeeding sexual.”

“I haven’t seen you for a year, and you have your breasts out in front of me. I don’t care why they’re out. They look even more gorgeous now than they did before.”

Sansa had vivid memories of Stannis worshipping her breasts, and she found herself blushing a bit. “You’ll need to wait your turn,” she retorted. Stannis looked up sharply at that, his eyes alert and hungry. “He’ll probably sleep again, after this.”

Stannis lay his head down on the pillow, his fingers toying with his Sansa’s hair as she fed their son. “I’m a father,” he said, almost inaudibly. “We have a baby.” For the first time, he allowed the facts to sink in beneath the hard veneer of shock. “You waited for me.”

“So you are, so we do, so I did,” she agreed, adjusting Eddie across a pillow in her lap. She stretched out her free hand and stroked down Stannis’ bare arm. “You’re injured.” her teeth worried at her lower lip as she noticed the stitching where the bullet had grazed him.

“I’m fine, I will be fine – it’s already been checked out.” He twisted and untwisted a lock of her hair from his fingers thoughtfully. “Would you have waited, Sansa, if it hadn’t been for Eddie?”

He’s going somewhere with this, she thought. If she hadn’t had Eddie, if Stannis had just walked in after a year gone with no word, Sansa knew that she would have launched herself at him. They would have banged it out right there on the sofa, then again in the shower, then again on the bed. But Stannis seemed uncertain – her reunion with him had been all about Eddie, about her and about her family. While she was lost in thought, Stannis ploughed on: “I just worried that I’ve trapped you or something, making you pregnant and stopping you from finding a… more suitable man.”

“More suitable?”

“Younger,” he clarified.

“Younger,” she nodded. “So… you’re worried that _you_ have trapped _me_?”

He looked up at her with dark, steady eyes. “Yes, you’re so beautiful.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“So young and so beautiful and you could have anyone,” he explained.

Sansa decided to set aside her worries that _she_ had trapped _him_. “I’ll repeat, Stannis: I love you. I do not want another man. I want you,” she smiled down into his eyes, which had gone suspiciously soft and a bit wet.

“I have wanted you every day for the last year, Sansa. I have thought about you every day,” he promised, gently massaging the little foot that Eddie was waving in his face. “Wait! I have evidence.”

What the hell is he talking about now, she laughed inwardly. Eddie was slowly falling asleep again, his mouth slack against her nipple. While Stannis rolled off the bed and ran off down the hall to retrieve his jacket, she settled Eddie on the bed and set herself to rights. Stannis returned and walked around the bed to her side, sitting carefully on the edge, by her feet, to avoid disturbing the baby’s sleep.

“I bought you something for Christmas, which in the light of today’s revelations is completely inadequate, but I just wanted to show you that I had been thinking of you,” he rambled, holding the jeweller’s box in his hands. “I know it’s nothing compared to what you’ve given me…”

“Are you quite done? I want to open my present,” Sansa hushed him.

He handed over the box. “Merry Christmas, my love,” he whispered as she tugged open the gold ribbon.

“Oh, not bad, Mr Baratheon,” she whistled. The simple, elegant diamond caught the low light from the bedside lamp. “I’m minded to forgive you with or without the diamond, but it doesn’t hurt.”

Stannis pulled her forward and pressed his lips to hers, then immediately took hold of her head with both hands and finally began kissing her like she’d dreamed of. Because she had dreamed of this reunion. Her guilty secret. Whenever she’d convinced her most pragmatic self that he was never coming back, or that if he did he’d take one look at Eddie and run, she’d let herself dream this kiss. He pulled her onto the floor, pushing up her top letting his hands roam over her breasts. He snagged a pillow from the bed and set it behind her head, then kissed her into the floor. He stripped her clothing from her body with brutal efficiency and wandered his hands over her curves. Sansa felt goose bumps rising along her skin everywhere her touched. Her nipples hardened as he licked at them gently while his fingertips caressed the underside of her breasts. She sighed and smiled and just let him take over. He clearly had a plan, and she was enjoying it.

He licked and kissed his way down her body, and she thought she’d be worried about what he’d think. But he was making the most delicious sounds, moaning and growling and swearing occasionally. He was moving fast, reacquainting himself with her body in a rush.

“Fuck, love, but having this baby has made your body even better,” he promised.

She couldn’t wait another minute either, so by the time he parted her thighs and started licking circles around her clit, she was already on the verge of coming. She ran her hands through his hair, pulling him close, and she noticed that not all of the moaning and swearing was coming from Stannis. “God, yes, please, more,” she breathed. “No more teasing, Stannis, please.” He began pushing his tongue more forcefully against her then and slid two fingers inside of her. She could hear and feel the effect he’d had on her as his fingers slipped through her arousal.

“Oh, god, I’ve missed you. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you,” she babbled as he brought her over the edge. She may have murmured some more embarrassingly frank statements about how much she wanted his cock as she clenched around his fingers, because he looked smug and satisfied for a man who still hadn’t come.

“Condoms in the drawer,” she prompted, pointing to the nightstand behind her head. He reached over her and dug about pulling out breast pads and ointments and scattering them over the floor without comment before finding the box of condoms he’d left behind last year. She didn’t know it was possible to put on a condom that fast, but the warmth of his body was back almost before she could miss it. He wedged a hand beneath the small of her back, pulling her ass closer as he pushed down and inside. She dropped her head back into the pillow and let out a long, satisfied sigh as he slid in to the base.

“You okay?” he stilled and breathed shakily. “I’m not hurting you?”

Sansa didn’t mention that as big as his cock might be, it was really no match for an entire baby. She stuck with, “No, you feel amazing,” which was the truth. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, my love, so do you,” he dropped his head into the curve of her neck and fucked her slowly and steadily. They both froze for moment when Eddie snuffled in his sleep, and Stannis reached his head up to check on the baby, before closing his eyes and sighing and letting himself thrust again. He moved his hand down to press and rub where she needed him most, and Sansa kept her eyes on him as he moved. He was back, moving over her as if he’d never left. He began swearing at one point that there’d been no one else, that there had been no point as no other sex he’d ever had in his life compared to her. She squeezed her muscles around him gratefully for that admission.

She tried to hold back on the noise as he sped up, but found herself pinned down, one hand on her hip now, keeping her still as he pounded into her more and more erratically. She knew he was on the verge of coming, so she finally closed her eyes and let his fingers playing over her clit take her with him. “God, Sansa, god you feel too good, so wet and right and fuck, fuck, fuck,” and she missed the look on his face as he came, her eyes seeing only the black warmth of her own orgasm behind her lids.

Stannis lay himself on top of her, his head against her chest, pressing kisses into her skin. He hitched his hips back to peel off the condom and lay it to one side, then rested again more fully against her. “I love you, Sansa,” he whispered between kisses. “I do not deserve either of you, but thank god you don’t agree.”

She smiled against the top of his head and breathed in his scent. They lay on the floor, exhausted and sated and relieved to be together, until Eddie shuffled in his sleep, and Stannis agreed to move him to the cot while Sansa went to the loo.

When she came out of the bathroom, she understood how Stannis had felt when he’d watched her feeding Eddie. Because there her boys lay on her bed, both fast asleep, Eddie with the side of his face plastered to Stannis’ bare chest, his arms and legs starfished across his father’s body.

She crawled into bed next to them and snuggled close. The cot could wait. Tonight, they’d all sleep together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've been reading this as it was posted, please notice the change to an E rating.

Sansa gravitated around him for a good hour, trying to work out a way in. Renly’s older brother, Robert’s younger brother: she knew the other two Baratheons well enough, one via Margery and the other her father’s long-standing friend. But until tonight, she had never met Stannis.

He wasn’t wearing a costume. He was the only one at the entire party - two floors of it, perhaps 300 guests – not wearing a Halloween costume. And he was scowling, standing back from the waves of dry ice and atmospheric, silken webs that ran in a riot of colour from the bar in the courtyard up to dark upper reaches of the off-limits third floor. He wore a suit far more expensive than someone in Jon’s line of work had any business owning, and several thousand pounds worth of Omega watch were strapped to his wrist. Family money, she supposed. Robert and Renly both owned enormous houses, but Jon said he rarely caught sight of Stannis’ money.

Jon had texted her twice now that he was on his way, that he’d make an introduction. _Why do u want 2 meet Stannis?_ , he’d replied to her first query. _2 grumpy for u._ Adjusting her green, satin bodice to arrange her breasts to best effect, Sansa decided it might be best to arrange her own meeting with the sternest Baratheon rather than waiting on Jon’s cack-handed ‘help’. She smoothed over the silk leaves that made up her very short skirt and tweaked her fairy wings back into place. He did look forbidding, Jon had the right of it, but also well-built and muscled and handsome, with his dark blue eyes and short-cropped black hair.

Storing her phone in a hidden pocket she’d sewn into her costume, she tucked a few loose strands from the blond wig of her costume behind her ears. She walked out of the shadowy corner of the courtyard and over to Stannis, standing in his own pool of light at the opposite side. His eyes tracked her as she made her way over to him. He looked something between annoyed and perplexed.

“You’re not interested in Robert’s speech?” she asked by way of an opening, leaning in what she hoped was casual elegance against a stone pillar.

“There is nothing of interest in Robert’s speech,” he replied sharply. “No one’s interested, I’m just less concerned about faking interest than the rest of his guests.” He seemed to be trying hard not to look too closely at her.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” she queried, leaning down unnecessarily to fix a strap on her show. She clocked him sneaking a glance down her top.

“I do not generally enjoy parties, especially not Robert’s.”

“Do you enjoy _not_ enjoying the party? Is that the appeal of standing over here, alone?” she asked with as much innocence as she could muster in a too-short fairy outfit.

He looked at her sharply. “I would rather not associate further with drunken friends of Robert.”

She smiled at him like this was a great stroke of good luck. “I’ve not been drinking, and I wouldn’t call myself a _friend_ of Robert, exactly. Am I allowed to stay?”

Stannis glared at her. She couldn’t call that intense, almost angry look anything other than a glare. “Why do you wish to stay here? With me?”

Taking a step closer, so that the toes of her sequined green heels nestled right up to his polished dress shoes, she whispered: “I like it out here with you.” He only looked at her with greater intensity; he seemed to suspect she was having him on. She reached out to press her palm to his chest, lightly testing the muscle she’d suspected she’d find under his crisp, white shirt.

He caught her wrist with his hand, stopping her movement but still keeping her hand in place. “Robert sent you out here to mess with me, didn’t he?”

Sansa shook her head. She leaned in, then up, eyes never leaving his, and pressed a small kiss to his jawline.

He kept his gaze even with hers, and she felt one hand slide around her back, pressing her just a bit closer. “He’s paying you…”

She shook her head again. That one was bit harder to take in her stride. “That was insulting. Robert didn’t send me out here, and I’m not being paid. Or expecting payment. Just in case arresting me prostitution was going to be your next move.” His jaw twitched enticingly and his frown deepened. “Do you have a next move in mind? A background check? Blood tests?”

Finally, Stannis hauled her closer, the hand on her back dropping to her arse. He released her wrist and let her hand explore his chest. All the while he kept his suspicious gaze on her eyes.

“Do you think you might kiss me?” she asked. “I’d really like you to kiss me.”

Stannis brought his free hand to her cheek and ever so lightly brushed his lips over hers. He pulled back to check on her afterwards, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Honestly, if I want to run screaming, I’ll let you know, okay? Kiss me again, please.”

He did, holding her close with both arms, one hand on the back of her neck, at the hairline of her blonde wig.

She finally gasped out: “There must be spare bedrooms in this place; it’s the size of a hotel.”

Stannis gaped at her. “You want to find a bedroom. With me,” he deadpanned.

Sansa smiled slowly, feeling wicked, and kissed him deeply and meaningfully. This was a tougher sell than she’d imagined, but then she’d never been the one doing the seducing before, always the one feeling trapped and somewhat forced. She hoped Stannis didn’t feel that way, only wanted and desired.

She drew one sequined shoe up his leg, all the way up past his knee, dragging it along the heavy material of his suit trousers. Finally she hooked the back of her knee over his hip. Stannis was still standing with his back to the pillar, facing the crowd still listening to Robert’s tipsy, overlong speech. Sansa had her back to the crowd, her upturned face hovering just in front of Stannis’ mouth.

“You think I’m lying,” she murmured. She pulled the leg behind him tight to her, pressing his no obvious erection against her core. “Go ahead and feel if I’m lying. Use your fingers, go on.” His hand had made its way under her skirt, rubbing smooth circles along her arse and upper thighs between the edge of her lacy green knickers and the tops of her white thigh-high stockings. “Slide in, then.” His fingers drifted between her thighs, close to where the lace pressed into the front of his trousers. He slipped two fingers beneath the elastic; he was breathing much faster, in shaky gulps of air. She shifted her mouth round to his ear, briefly taking the lobe between her teeth before pulling back just a breath and whispering: “Tell me, am I lying?” His fingers slipped softly across her slick folds, circled her entrance and dipped just a fingertip inside. He groaned deeply; Sansa felt the timbre of it rumble into her chest.

“Fuck,” he swore, eloquently.

“A good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” she grinned. He turned his face to the side to study her expression. She held her ballet pose in front of him. “Did you want to fuck me right here… because Robert’s going to have to finish that speech sometime soon.”

Stannis actually growled at that, though she hadn’t expected him to dip down and work his arm beneath both her legs, lifting her off the ground. She tightened her hold on his shoulders as he opened the door behind them, furthest from the crowd, with his hip, and stole up a back staircase with her. She hoped no one had noticed the Robert’s dour brother carrying Tinkerbell away from the courtyard.

He set her back on her feet at the top of the stone stairs, and concealed in the dark hallway, pushed her against the wall for a harsh kiss. She felt even more aroused now that he’d stopped trying to deny his desire for her, but the full weight of his attention made her heart stutter. This floor was still open to the partygoers, so he handled her roughly up the next flight of stairs, this one carpeted and soft. She tripped off both her shoes on alternating steps; Stannis ripped away her wings and tiara, leaving them on the landing as he pulled her up in his arms again and carried her into the nearest bedroom. He locked the door behind him.

She had apparently convinced him pretty thoroughly of her interest, because he didn’t slow down now to ask further permission, unhooking and unzipping until he had her standing before him in just her knickers and stockings. He sat down on the edge of the bed with Sansa between his spread legs and began kissing along the underside of her breasts, both hands gripping and massaging her arse. He was still wearing his jacket and tie.

Sansa decided that she’d just wait and see how long it took him to remove an item of clothing, even a shoe.

Then he dropped to his knees beneath her, pushing her stance wider and spreading her folds with his calloused fingers. He licked across her and she moaned, loudly, gripping his shoulders more tightly to hold herself in place above him. He licked inexpertly around her clit, one hand still fondling her arse while the other groped for a nipple, before finally applying a firmer pressure exactly where it did the most good. One of Sansa’s hands locked behind his head, holding him there and gasping. He brought one of her thighs over his shoulder and abandoned her breast to hold her steady as he kept working her clit. She could feel her arousal starting to drip from her, and Stannis lapping it up at intervals.

He kept going until her leg muscles started to cramp. When she shifted once in discomfort, he seemed to realise immediately, swinging her around to the bed and pulling her roughly to the edge. He held her legs apart with both hands and drifted both of his thumbs along her entrance as his tongue kept the tight circles going on her clit. He let one thumb slide inside of her, and then she felt it slide very slowly downward, coated in her own arousal, until it pressed lightly against the ring of muscle below. With that, Sansa screamed out her orgasm.

She couldn’t quite believe that a man so buttoned up that he was _still wearing his fucking tie_ had just gone there.

He took his hands off of her as she panted through the last spasms of her high. He looked up at her from between her thighs, his eyes serious and the darkest of blues.

“We can stop now, it’s okay…” he began.

She opened her eyes wider, incredulous. “Stop? Why would we…?”

“No reason, don’t listen to me,” and he hurried to pull off the jacket, then the tie, while Sansa worked his shirt free of his trousers and started unbuckling his belt. She grinned victoriously once his shirt came down his shoulders; he was every inch as cut as she’d thought he’d be. He retrieved a condom for the attached bathroom (“Robert keeps them everywhere; I don’t want to know why”) and swung her up on top of his hips. She took the condom from his fingers and ripped open the packet herself, carefully rolling it down along his cock, taking time to stroke him as she went.

He didn’t last long once she’d pushed down onto him, but it was long enough and fast enough to wear her out, collapsing onto this chest as he came. He rolled her over onto her side and began kissing her and thanking her, all jumbled up, as she let her hands explore his abs and shoulders. Sansa had barely had time to regain her breath before Stannis crawled over her body, hard and ready for more.

Much later, when they finally lay covered in sweat and stickiness and expressions of awe, Stannis slipped his arm beneath her waist and pulled her onto his chest.

“We, umm, probably should have covered this earlier, but I’m Stannis.”

“Yes, I know that,” Sansa responded, her eyes still closed, her mind near sleep.

“You do?” He nudged her chin with his nose, encouraging her to look at him.

Sansa opened her eyes just enough to satisfy him that she was listening. “Sure. You’re Robert and Renly’s brother.” She smiled wickedly and then put on a mock-air of superiority. “I would never do all of _that_ with a man without knowing his name.”

Stannis looked flustered and had gone red around his cheeks and forehead. “If you could just tell me your name…”

She arranged herself so that she had both hands folded on his chest, then propped up her chin. “I’m Sansa. Extraordinarily pleased to meet you.”

“Sansa.” He tried out her name. “That’s unusual. I only know of one Sansa, and that’s… oh lord god. You’re not that Sansa.”

“I suspect that I am.”

His eyes widened. “Ned Stark’s daughter?” Then his eyes widened further, in a panic. “Jon Stark’s _sister_?”

“See? I am that Sansa. Told you so.” She unpinned the blonde wig and shook out her long, red hair over his chest. Then she yawned and resettled herself against his chest, closing her eyes, but it was hard to sleep with him starting to hyperventilate.

“How… how old are you?”

She shook her head in amusement. “Very much legal. Calm down.” She waited a few minutes while the news of her identity seemed to sink in. “So, Stannis, aren’t you going to ask me out? Make plans to see me again?”

He lay on his back, his hands stroking up and down softly between her shoulders and her arse, considering. “Is tomorrow night too soon?” He kissed her hair.

“Nope. Sounds perfect.”

…

Eddie had fallen over three times already, trying to push the luxurious, miniature red sports car around Robert’s courtyard. Any attempts to separate him from the car were met with twin cries of disapproval from both Eddie and his Uncle Robert.

Stannis picked up his toddler and glared at his brother. “You bought him a car, Robert? He’s still learning to walk.”

“He’s a Baratheon. He is never too young for a Jaguar,” Robert got right into Eddie’s excited face and planted an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek, even as Stannis tried to move the boy away. Eddie shrieked in joy and clung to his father.  “You refused to let me spend Christmas with my nephew and now you’re bringing down New Year.”

Robert wheeled around to find Sansa standing behind him, an unaccountable smile on her face. “Oh, good. A working car, complete with motor,” she said, her face giving little away. “That’s almost better than the pony Renly and Loras have bought him.”

Stannis huffed, but he set his son back on the stone flags of the courtyard and watched him hurry off after the car with a skilled combination of walking and crawling. “This is ridiculous; we should never have come,” he whispered to her, just loud enough for Robert to overhear.

“They’re not doing any harm, Stannis. You do realise that they’re trying to show you affection via your child, right?” She held up her wrist, which now sported a stunning sapphire bracelet. “And via me!” She laughed when he shot an angry look in Robert’s direction.

“Save it, brother. That was Renly, not me. I’d never buy your wife jewellery. Unless she asked me to, of course.” Robert leered at Sansa. “Any time, darling. Any time at all.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and walked sharply over to Eddie, who was still in battle with the motorised car. She picked him up, rubbing his back and pressing soothing kisses onto his cheek, and walked him back over to the two brothers. “Here,” she said, handing over Eddie to Robert. “You want to be his favourite uncle? Fine. Watch him for a bit.”

Robert bounced Eddie in his arms, making faces and grinning as Eddie squealed and giggled. “My pleasure,” he said, not looking up from his nephew. “Where are you two going?”

Stannis gripped Sansa close and nuzzled her neck. “We’re going up to one of guestrooms on the third floor to have sex,” Stannis stated matter-of-factly. “It’s a holiday tradition.”

“Right,” Robert dismissed him with a disbelieving snort, “just be back in an hour. The Starks are descending en masse for the party and we have to keep Cersei and Joff away from… well, everyone else.”

Stannis led Sansa by the hand, their fingers intertwined, shooting each other matching grins as they climbed the first few steps. “Wait!” Robert called, his voice echoing across the courtyard. “Where are you actually going? In case Eddie needs you.”

“Third floor. Sex.” Sansa shouted back. “If he fusses, try Renly. I think he might like Uncle Renly better…”

Sansa didn’t hear Robert’s response, all her attention now on Stannis, who picked her up and carried her the rest of the way up the stairs. They found the same room and Stannis set her carefully on the bed and turned to lock the door. He toed off his shoes and crawled over the bed to her.

“You gonna take off your tie this time?” she asked, already reaching out to loosen it.

“I took my tie off last time we were here, if I recall, just not until I’d convinced myself that you really did want me.”

“I really do want you, Stannis,” she sighed, and kissed him. “Happy New Year.”

“It will be. Let’s just get you out of these clothes…” He leaned down and kissed from her throat, past her breasts, and pulled up her shirt to kiss her not-quite-flat stomach. “You going to tell them all today? Are your parents going to be upset?”

Sansa shook her head. “They’ll be thrilled for us, I’m sure of it. Well, Robb and Jon and Bran and Rickon will be thrilled. Mum will come around. Dad and Arya will be worried.”

He brought himself back to her mouth and kissed her again. “You’ll have finished your course before the baby comes, and Sam said you can start work at his firm six months after that, so even Ned shouldn’t object that I’m destroying his daughter’s life.”

“He gave all that up when you quit the service, Stannis. He likes you, you know, in his own way. And he’ll be even more impressed when he sees you raising his grandchildren full time.”

Pulling off her knickers and then shedding his trousers, Stannis settle over her and kissed her almost senseless. “I love you, Sansa. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Mmmm, stop being so romantic. We’ve got less than an hour. Get to work, Mr Baratheon.”

“Very well, Ms Stark. Now, just turn over, face down, yes, like that, and hold onto the headboard…”


End file.
